Carnival of Tricks
by Tower of Babel
Summary: A new drug is making waves on the street within a diabolical scheme cooked up by Crane/Scarecrow. When Nightwing, Drake and Damian are exposed to this drug, unusual things happen. And after an unpleasant outing at a carnival for a little R&R, and Damian orally cursed, things get even worse. (Sequel to my novella: The Secret of Jason Todd).
1. To Kill Or Not To Kill

_**CHAPTER ONE:**_  
 _ **"TO KILL OR NOT TO KILL"**_

Red Robin struck hard and fast. He bobbed and weaved, ducked and parried. His bow staff was getting a workout against the menacing man whom he was fighting, and so was he, sweating from his brow. His hair already felt itchy from dampness. The man seemed to have rudimentary fighting skills, but had the drive of an insane psychopath.

He fought the man matching bow for bow, defending, thrusting, defending, thrusting, again and again, and it was becoming as if he and the man were merely on permanent repeat. Neither one of them were getting the high ground. Unfortunately, the man had Damian's sword. The man had stolen it when he hit Damian hard across the back of the head after a distraction tactic. Damian was all right, but he was currently on the sidelines. The kid wanted to fight, but every time he tried to stand he'd fall back down, clutching his head.

Damian obviously had a concussion.

They were in a warehouse, an atypical hideout for a super villain like the man's boss. But his boss — Scarecrow — had already made an exit, abandoning his laboratory, and left this guy in his place to force combat. They had been hunting Scarecrow for weeks until they got a break which lead them here. A drug dealer on the street had slipped some information to Jason while he was walking the streets pretending to be a go-between.

The information they got lead them to the wharves and warehouse district and it had been the best lead they had had come across to stop the flow of a certain street drug that caused a very unusually side-effect by its user — to give away all their money. While in itself a 'pleasant' side-effect, it still caused issues, and Batman wanted it stopped.

Newspaper and the media outlets were reporting suspicious activity regarding prominent people giving money away to seemingly frivolous causes. The elite and wealthy had money to burn, but these 'causes' didn't fit the norm, say like relatively known charities. Instead, money was being deposited into numbered accounts to off-shore accounts disguised as charities, and then lost in the system. Quite a few Red Robin traced to Switzerland. End of the line.

After analyzing a quick sample, Red Robin was beyond shocked at its brilliance. In wasn't injected, instead it was blown on the victim unsuspectedly, and it had an 'intelligence', and contained minute nanobots, that forced the victim to contact someone for instructions, where and when to give away 'to charity'. It was diabolical.

With a single verbal instruction spoken at these nanobots, Scarecrow could make anyone do anything!

Scarecrow was brainwashing them with this new form of drug. But his operation had been much bigger than any of the Bat Family had realized and it had been going on for months. Not even Red Robin knew who was truly behind the scheme, until a strange looking man entered a bank and accessed one of these fake numbered accounts to transfer funds to another account, that Red Robin was closely monitoring.

Normally such a thing would probably be done by wire transfer with a heavy encryption, but anything could have happened for the mystery man to come to the bank instead of using a personal computer. The bank teller was also being monitored, but when he was checked out by other means, he was completely clean. But the teller helped the man hide the money transfers, nevertheless, which had been going on a lot longer than Red Robin thought.

Was he being controlled? Paid off? Or was be apart of the operation? Or victim?

The origin of the numbered accounts was still unknown, but Scarecrow was greedy. Red Robin suspected he had a partner, but nothing could be confirmed. It was then Red Robin using secret access within the city surveillance CCTV cameras throughout Gotham City managed to follow the man after his shift ended to the warehouse — to Scarecrow's base of operations. And to his laboratory where he cooked his newest controlling and hallucinating drug.

What appeared to be like medical beds and a now demolish chemist lab were in the warehouse, among other things, and the man — this drug inducted man — that was currently now trying to kill Red Robin and Damien.

Nightwing had chased after Scarecrow when he made his escape from the warehouse and was presently scouring through the maze of alleyways, side streets, and other hiding spots within the district.

So far, Nightwing had no luck.

Red Robin was forced down to one knee as Scarecrow's minion slashed hard with Damian's sword, Red Robin cupping his bow staff turned vertical, the blade cutting rivet marks into the metallic surface.

The man — the teller — whom they had followed to the warehouse was of sound mine to begin with. Then Scarecrow dusted him with some of this new drug, literally blowing it on him, and gave him instructions just before fleeing. Soon after the immediate coughing, the man had grabbed his head. Whatever the man began to see, feel, or experience was so traumatic, that he began to scream and shout, and become unhinged, causing a complete disassociation of reality. Scarecrow's instructions had been: "Your demons have come. Defend yourself."

 _"DEMONS! YOU'RE ALL DEMONS! YOU'RE ALL HELL SPAWN FROM LUCIFER AND I MUST DEFEND MYSELF!"_

If Jason were here, he'd probably agree with Damian being called a demon, often referring him to alike. His nickname for Damian was 'Hell Spawn', because he always acted so dark, arrogant, and narcissistic. And was basically a pain.

That aside, this man — possessed by Scarecrow, per se — was dangerous. Scarecrow's drugs were so powerful that they could make a person think and do anything and the side effects would be with a person for weeks afterwards. Dick Grayson could attest to that. He was once subjected to one of Scarecrow's deadliest hallucinogenic drugs once, that made him believe he was worthless, that he never do anything right, and it wasn't Nightwing who left the team, but rather Batman told him he was no longer wanted, and it almost made him commit suicide because of its deep depressive effect — causing a psychotropic episode.

However, Nightwing was strong, and he beat Scarecrow's drug using his own inner strength. He had defied so much throughout the years that his mentality was beyond than of the average person. And through the help of several days of therapy, Bruce and the entire Bat family never leaving his side — suicide watch — he snapped out of it on his own. And like Dick, never one to hide his emotions, he had a good cry in Barbara Gordon's arms, and then even apologized to everyone that he had ever thought the worse of them.

He had called Bruce so many nasty names. It was lucky for Dick that he remember so very little of it.

Scarecrow's drugs were evil incarnate, and they had caused more than a few people to take their own lives.

Red Robin had to stop this guy from doing something he would regret as well. The man didn't know what he was doing and didn't deserve his mind being turned to mush with whatever the drug was messing with his brain. The man's mind must've been experiencing utter chaos to believe demons were going to kill him and that the only way he could stop them was to fight back.

Red Robin didn't blame the man. He would do the same thing under the same controlled circumstances. Lucky for the man, Tim Drake was here to help him.

Or, so he thought.

Red Robin thrust upwards with his bow staff and jumped to his feet pushing the man backwards, then parried with the man again, but made sure to only hit the flat sides of the sword. Damian's sword blade was extremely sharp and it would more than likely slice Red Robin's bow staff in two with very little effort at the right angle and with enough thrust.

The best he could do at the moment was bounce the sword from side to side to avoid the man from getting in too close. But, in doing so, he couldn't attack now. He was merely in defensive mode. He didn't want to hurt the man. But in the state he was in, would the man even feel any pain? Like a drunk who fell down a flight of stairs.

The analogy fell in line to a time he saw Jason take a wrong step and fell on his face after an evening of drinking. Tim was too young to drink, but that didn't stop Jason when he took Tim to a bar and Tim had to carry Jason home. Jason said the next morning he didn't feel a thing when he tumbled down the flight of steps near the bar despite his face showing the result of the smack — black and blue and bruised under his left eye.

"Kill'em, Drake! Show no mercy!" Drake suddenly heard Damian shout.

Red Robin quickly eyed the boy, and saw Robin on one knee holding his head. Damian had been hit hard with a two-by-four across the back of the head by the very man Red Robin was fighting and obviously needed medical attention.

So, Drake needed to finish this fight and quickly.

"No!" Red Robin retorted. "He's innocent. He thinks we're devils, a result of Scarecrow's drug. We don't kill!"

" _DEMONS! PHANTOMS! MONSTERS! I WILL BANISH YOU BOTH FROM THIS REALM!"_ the man cried, swinging Damian's sword like a mad man. Red Robin bobbed and weaved avoiding the strikes. Even backflipped to make distance. Good thing he kept up on his training apart from his computer duties.

"The man's obviously delusional and can't be reasoned with!" Damian said back. "You'll be doing him a favour."

Stubborn and hard-nosed to the last, Red Robin thought. Just like his father, Bruce Wayne.

But Damian had a point, to kill or not to kill was the question here. The man was acting like a psychopathic killer with no remorse. Batman's cardinal rule was not to kill. To save his own life, would he do the unthinkable? Jason wouldn't think twice about it.

"No!" Red Robin rejected. But he had had enough of this stalemate. It was time to end this fight. "I'm going to save him!" He stayed true to his morals. He looked directly at the man. "Look buddy, I know you probably don't understand me right now…I don't want to hurt you…but this is going to hurt a little…"

And with the quickness of a jack rabbit, Red Robin reached inside his utility belt and snatched out two mini-discs, toys he especially made for quick attacks, and with a snap of his wrist, flicked them like spin-tops at the man. One was a flash-bomb, temporarily blinding him, but the other created a heavier mini-explosion that forced the man back. Then with one downward thrust with his bow staff, Red Robin disarmed the man, knocking the sword out of hand and to the ground. The sword bounced and clanged when it landed.

"Kick it over!" Damian demanded, and Drake quickly did so. The sword slid along the floor and Damian grasped a hand around the hilt.

But Drake had one last surprise for Scarecrow's minion.

He threw one final disc, this one directly at the man's chest. And this disc was very different, and had a specific name, with built in was an AI chip. Drake called it the Octo-Shock-Disc or OSD.

As it flew through the air, out of small compartments within its circular casing, it sprang mini-tentacles that wrapped around the man's mid-section and shoulders once secured to his body. Within seconds of full attachment, it directed enough of an electrical shock that it rendered the man completely immobile. For a moment, the man just stood there, albeit unconscious, like a statue, his hands clutched into claws, his mouth agape. Then his knees buckled, and the man collapsed unconscious to the floor, face first. He didn't even have time to scream.

Drake breathed heavy, used his bow staff as a temporary crutch.

"You finally beat him, Drake," Damian said, however condescendingly. The kid got to his feet and also used his sword as a crutch to do so. "Took you long enough. If it were me, he'd be down in two-seconds flat."

Drake grumbled. "You're one to talk, he blindsided you. You let your guard down. A little thank you would be nice!"

"Stop fighting! Both of you!" It was Nightwing's voice that came over the comm from Drake's wrist device. "You can write a report about what happen to you later — a full and detailed report, mind you."

Both sighed. After every mission, a full report had to be logged to review later. Batman would review it, and often, they would all gather around and talk about what they could have done better and then do more efficiently later. Basically it would lead to more training.

They were just coming off a confrontation with Mr. Freeze, who tried to threaten Gotham City with a new chemical weapon he called Ice Acid, that would eat away anything it touched. Red Robin was subjected to it and suffered some nasty burns as a result, as it liked like acid/dry ice.

The Rogues' were more than active as of late, and often — in the case of Drake then and Damian here — the team was getting sloppy. Nightwing chalked it up to being tired, they had been working extremely hard, but he was even getting upset about it, and insisted on more training drills. He was an even harder drill sergeant than Batman.

Bruce was still on his business retreat for Wayne Enterprises overseas. So, it was up to Dick, Drake and Damian to hold the fort. Jason left to do whatever. Typical of Jason, he would come when needed of it was only important to him.

Bruce insisted on up-to-date status reports.

In regard to the Freeze incident because he had read about it online, Dick had told Bruce everything was fine. He had had left out a few details — like Jason giving Freeze a sample of the Lazarus Pit water; which could be used to heal wounds like Red Robin's nasty Ice Acid burns, even resurrect the dead (but it wouldn't work for Nora Fries). If Bruce knew about that, he'd be furious and would cut his trip short.

But Dick didn't want that. It wasn't often Bruce got a vacation.

Gotham City was in good hands without Batman at the moment. But after this, Dick was starting to regret saying that.

"Do you need assistance, Nightwing?" Drake asked. He had Grayson's GPS position marker in blue on his wrist 3D map, projected from his wrist device. Those in red — he and Damian — were together. Nightwing was in pursuit of Scarecrow a few kilometres away from their position.

"Negative, he got away," Nightwing sounded defeated, but also annoyed. "Status of Scarecrow's Op?"

"Secured," Drake reported, "and one perp in custody. But he's in no condition for an interrogation."

"He's unconscious," Damian put in. "After a lengthy battle with Slow Boy here."

"I was handling it! He was intoxicated with one of Scarecrow's drugs. The man was acting like a lunatic!"

Nightwing growled displeasure. "You both did good, but you both need more training. Bruce would not be pleased, I'm not happy either. I wish you two would stop fighting all the time. Or do we have to have one of our little talks again?" There was a moment of silence. One of Grayson's little talks was when everyone sat around together like a group session while Grayson lectured them about what it means to be a family. And normally it would last for hours. It was boring. "Good," he said more cheerful. "Looks like we have an understanding. Status…Any medical issues?"

"Negative," Drake reported.

"All good," Damian replied.

"Understood," Nightwing said back. "Wrap things up, contact the GCPD, and let them take the prisoner into custody. Explain to them to use extreme caution and to issue a medical warning regarding Scarecrow's drugs. Grab a sample if you can and we'll catalog it with the others. I'll meet you both back at the Bat Cave. Nightwing out!"

"Understood," Drake said, but Grayson had already ended the communication.

Nightwing could get back on his own. Drake had driven the Robin Cycle to the scene with Damian on his back.

"Damian — you okay? I don't have any meds with me. Can you handle a trip back on the cycle?"

"A little headache is nothing to me, Drake." Damian rubbed the back of his head where Scarecrow's minion had hit him. It smart, but it wasn't bad. "You forget, I'm much tougher than you are. So, a little bump is nothing to me!"

Drake felt like swearing, but held his tongue. But inside, he shouted every last profundity he could think of.

 ** _To be continued…_**


	2. Don't Argue With Big Brother

_**CHAPTER TWO**_

 _ **"Don't Argue With Big Brother"**_

The Robin Cycle entered the secret entrance to the Bat Cave from a lowly, dirt road, and Drake drove it through the sleuth-ways of tunnels with its security features that deactivated remotely via a communication module built in the cycle, then reactivated as soon as they left an appointed beacon. Without the module which was installed in every vehicle, or by manual remote that every member of the Bat Family had, the new system Drake had installed to keep all intruders out would immediately go into effect and slam down barriers to keep anyone from going further.

It had worked on more than one occasion. One time, a bunch of drunk teenagers had ventured into the cave. From the exterior, it looked like your typical old mining cave covered with shrubbery and moss, but that was just a mask. There was even a sign out in the front indicating it was dug in the 1800s by old coal miners but then abandoned. The intrusion had alerted those in the Bat Cave, but instead of activating the higher security features which would expose abnormal occupation, they released hundreds of bats into the tunnel, and scared the teenagers away.

It basically began as a very long tunnel, but then broke into a series of sleuth-ways that Bruce and Dick had carved out in early years. Over the years, the caves had gotten much bigger, deeper, and more secure.

A good security system was badly needed before Drake installed his latest version. He jokingly called it the D-500, because it was built by Drake and it secured all 500 sleuth-ways, caverns, mini-tunnels, and waterways, that connected in anyway to the main cave. Animals had often triggered the alarms in early versions, but with the new AI installed and its parameters defined, Drake allowed it to learn what was actually friend or foe by imputing details for it to differentiate while the system continuous scanned the caves all day, every day.

It was difficult work, and Drake had actually become a spelunker, a cave explorer, for several days, to catalog all the different species of life that made their home in this subterranean world. Then he conducted online research, gathered the necessary information and pictures of every life form what he observed, and imputed all the data into the AI program under FRIEND or FOE labels. Basically, the only thing that was under FOE was any creature or human not authorized. All animals, birds, insects, amphibians — especially bats — were not enemies.

Every member of the Bat Family, among other outside acquiesces, were scanned into the Batcomputer, and their parameters were set. So, every time they entered the Bat Cave either by the tunnels or by way of the Manor, they were always scanned, and continuously scanned. Unfortunately, there was one time Jason had got into the system and purposely switched Damian from FRIEND to FOE, and the system went haywire when Damian entered the Bat Cave. Bruce gave him hell for that because it put the entire cave on lockdown until Drake could fix the error.

The D-500 also had a wide variety of other constructs and categories including machines and weapons that were allowed or disallowed. Everything was scanned, and it made everyone secure in knowing they were safe here.

Damian held on tight as Drake maneuvered through the tunnels to the main cave. There was a certain pattern, and after entrancing one tunnel, a door closed to make like a wall, then one door/wall opened, and this pattern continued. The entire trip from beginning to end took about a minute, but the security was well worth the construct.

When the cycle came to park in the Bat Cave, Damian jumped off first. But immediately after Drake dismounted, he had words with him. Drake yanked off his face mask in anger.

"Damn it! You were reckless out there, Damian. You always let your ego drive your actions. He nearly killed you. And to top it all off, that lunatic stole your sword and tried to slice me in two with it!"

"Shove it, Drake!" Damian said, taking his gloves and mask off and throwing them to the floor. "I'm in no mood for this, but I know I'll get an earful from Grayson about it. We've been over this!"

"Then we'll go over it _again_ , Damian," Dick Grayson said, exiting the medical bay, unmasked but still in costume. In his hand he held a glass of water and two aspirins. He handed both over to Damian when he reached him. The boy swallowed the pills and drank the full glass down. But no thank-you was given.

"He's reckless, Dick!" Drake said with an unnatural fury. "If I hadn't been there, then Scarecrow's man would've kill him. He's a danger to the team!"

"Screw you, Drake! You wanna fight? I'll take you on, right here, right now!"

Both Drake and Damian balled their fists and clenched their jaws, ready to duke it out.

Dick got between them like a father would separating his kids from a children's disrupt. "Okay, settle down. Things happen. Tim, I agree with you to a certain degree. But I saw the replay of the battle recorded by your mask relayed and stored in the Batcomputer. After Scarecrow fled, drugged his man, you hesitated to fight the man. You held back." Dick put up a hand to Tim. "Yes, I know…But, you have to understand, your little hesitations in the field — your moral code — could get you killed one day. He wasn't of sound mind, I get that. But it was either you or him."

Tim looked stunned. "Bruce's cardinal rule: We don't kill," Tim corrected him. "We all follow it." He pointed at Damian. "He was the reckless one, but I'm getting the lecture?"

Damian smiled smug. But then Dick gave him a serious look of displeasure. "You have nothing to smile about, Damian. You allowed an enemy to get the better of you. The piece of wood could've been a gun for all it mattered. He rendered you down. You let your guard down. You have nothing to be proud of here."

Damian scowled. "We busted Scarecrow's operation, the drugs are off the street; we did our job." Damian pointed at Dick, gave him a counter-lecture. "But you let the bad guy get away. We should be lecturing you, Grayson!"

"You're missing the point, Damian."

"See! He's so infuriating, Dick." Drake's face was getting red with anger. "He can't admit he was wrong."

"No, you're wrong!" Damian countered.

"Tim, Damian — time out!" Dick sighed frustrated. "Go get undressed. Then we can review how we can all learn to do better the next time. We're a team, and without teamwork, we're nothing. That's the most important lesson. Go!"

Tim left in a huff, but Damian stayed steadfast. He crossed his arms. Instead of changing, he sat down roughly in a chair next to a computer console.

"Aren't you going to get undressed, Damian?" Dick asked.

"With him in there? I'll wait."

"Damian, you and I have to have a little talk about your attitude as of late. Bruce may not be here right now, but he left me in charge. You and I are going to start from square one."

"And what exactly does that mean?"

"It means…" Dick's voice elevated, but then softened. "I'll teach you something Bruce taught me when I 'misbehaved' one time in the field."

Damian's eyes narrowed. "Oh yeah, and what's that?"

Dick had had enough, and leaned close to Damian's face. He then produced a wicked smile, teeth shown. Damian became a little unnerved, as if he thought Grayson had suddenly become unhinged. When Grayson got angry, it was no laughing matter. Grayson was often worse than Bruce sometimes, emotionally, despite his normal carefree persona. Sometimes PTSD worked in odd ways.

"You, Tim and I, are going to do something I know you'd probably hate, and I don't care. And your big brother says you'll going to do it. Understand?" Damian swallowed and nodded. "Good," Dick said with a thinner smile. "Now get undressed, be nice to your partner/brother, shake hands with him, and apologize, and then get your butts up to the Manor. Alfred has dinner ready. But bright and early tomorrow, we're all going out. No refusing, I mean it."

Dick smiled, and Damian said, albeit with reluctance, "Okay." And went to change.

Dick Grayson put his hands on his hips, watched him walk away. "Kids these days need more fun," he said, then softly, "so they don't turn out like you, Little D."

And then he thought of his own bundle of joy, his daughter Mar'i that he birthed with Kory, his wished-be wife. They wanted to get married, but complications occurred, and they were now separated from each other over a long distance, their marriage never to be if the universe was any indication. Kory was in space now and Dick was on Earth. Kory had Mar'i at the moment and was training her. She had special powers like her alien mother and she needed to be properly trained in how to use them or she could not only be a danger to herself but to others as well.

"I miss you, sweetie…" he said softly, looking up to the ceiling of the Bat Cave, as if it were the starry night sky.

And as if she had heard him, a telepathic response resounded in his mind:

" _I miss you, too, daddy…_ "

 ** _To be continued…_**


	3. A Day Of Fun

_**CHAPTER THREE**_

 _ **"A Day Of Fun"**_

The next morning, bright and early, like Dick said, Tim and Damian, dressed in casual attire, got into Dick's average looking dark Sedan, or his "Daddy's car", as Jason had once called it, and they drove to a carnival that had staked down near the waterfront. It was an annual event filled with fun and entertainment for the whole family.

It brought back so many good memories for Dick, once being a member of _The Flying Grayson's_ , living in a circus-type atmosphere. The negative memories he put aside. This was going to be a day of fun at the carnival, which he knew Damian would hate. He knew Damian would rather be training. So, this was a form of punishment for the boy.

Dick laughed internally.

He parked, and Dick was the first to get out of the Sedan. A broad smile engulfed his face as he looked around at the place, he felt like a little kid again. He had heard about the carnival coming to Gotham a month before, and he had always planned to come. He had originally wanted to ask Barbara, but things changed and she couldn't come. So, Tim and Damian were second best.

It had everything Dick imagined. A giant Big Top, rides, games, food stands, clowns, and other friendly characters associated with kids, happy-go-lucky music, and it even had a Fun House.

Tim exited the car, but Damian remained inside. His arms crossed. Dick put his arm on the roof and looked into the back seat, after he opened the door. "Hey Damian, why are you pouting? I told you we'd be going out today. This is a day of fun. Don't make that unfriendly face. You look like a pug."

"I am not a pug," Damian countered.

"Forgive me, pugs are cuter. Now get out."

Damian got out. He looked around, saw everything as big as day. His eyes widened with the grandness of it all. "Why a carnival, Grayson? Doesn't this bring back bad memories?"

"Why do you have to spoil things all the time, Damian?" Tim said.

"Now, now, no fighting," Dick said. "We're here to enjoy ourselves. We've been working hard lately and we're all stressed, and we all need a day to relax, to unclench those tight butts. I thought this would be fun. Let's go."

Dick smiled at him and Damian rolled his eyes. The boyish look on Dick's face melted some of the displeasure of being here from Damian's demeanour and at long last he conceded. Besides, who was he to deny Dick Grayson a chance to revisit some good old memories from his childhood. Maybe he would get some further insight into what made Dick tick. So, Damian considered it an observational training exercise.

 **x x x**

As the day dragged on for Damian, half the day, he found himself faking smiles, and faking joy. He found a day at the carnival utterly boring. And his observation of Grayson wasn't yielding anything else other than what he already knew about him — that he was happy guy who liked to enjoy himself when he wasn't working.

Damian played some games, and aced the shooting galleries winning some prizes. But, of course, they were merely children's games. But Tim and Dick seemed to be having a fun time, so he went a lot with them in everything they did. Rode some rides; visited the Fun House with the wonky mirrors that made each of them appear either tall, short, thin, or heavy-set, and travelled through a maze of mirrors within, which was no challenge at all; participated in a Bouncy Ball race, that Grayson, Damian observed was having way too much fun at, and pretended to concede at the end by falling over, to allow Tim to win. An adult winning a kids race would look odd, he thought. They also visited the Big Top and took in a show, and watched the Trapeze artists, and he overheard Grayson talk to Tim about how The Flying Grayson's act was much better than this current one. But they were still entertaining.

After the show, they walked along the many booths on the waterfront. Couples in peddle boats occupied the waters nearest the docks, kids were jumping off a stone barrier into deeper waters, there was a kid Bouncy House near the beach with a long line to get in, and food walkers pounded the area with goodies. Grayson spared no expensive indulging in the games and other fun, and every once in a while, looking back at Damian with a smile. Damian smiled back. But the moment Grayson turned around, the smiling ended.

Damian licked some strawberry cotton-candy in hand as he walked behind the fun-goer duo, as he called them. He had to admit, a day at the carnival was realizing some tension. It was less stressful — no training, no hard workouts, no mental strain. So, he couldn't help smile to himself for a moment. And seeing Grayson laugh and smile stirred a certain happiness in him as well. He saw Grayson as a mentor. So, to see him having a good time, suddenly lightened his mood. He couldn't really explain it. Maybe Grayson had been right. A day to unwind was badly needed.

"Oh look, they even have a Bat Burger booth," Tim observed, pointing at a little booth with a long line-up.

"I love that restaurant downtown. They have some of the weirdest characters visit the place. Bruce, Clark and I once visited Bat Burger as our alter egos and no one paid attention to us. One guy in a Nightwing costume even said to me that I was a ' _a poor-man's version of Nightwing_ '." Dick laughed out loud. "That always cracks me up."

As the others walked ahead, Damian spotted a golden fabric tent in an out of the way place off the main path. He took a lick of his cotton candy, glanced at Grayson and Drake, and then ventured towards the tent. And curiosity got the better of him as he lifted up the closed entrance flap.

He didn't announce himself, but he did step inside. He took a quick glance around. By all appearances, the interior looked antiquated but familiar. Your typical 19th century fortune teller set-up: tapestries on the walls, sensed candle s on a round table, with a crystal ball at its centre. The place had a sweet smell like that of honeysuckle.

But there was no one inside.

The smoke seemed to intensify and he shook his head, a brief tiredness brought on; he blinked his eyes. And he suddenly had a feeling of deja-vu. Like when you think you've been to a place before, but then your mind awakes to it the knowledge you had merely been momentarily distracted with something else. He forced himself to full alertness. This was nonsense, he thought.

"You'll make no money if you're not in your tent," he said out loud, and licked his cotton candy. He then turned away.

Suddenly he heard a voice, halted. "Welcome, young man." The voice was crackling, a woman's voice, and it startled Damian, causing him to snap his attention back around. She sat in a chair at the table behind the crystal ball. He gasped. She had not been there a moment ago, and she didn't appear to look like a quick person to come behind a rear curtain. "Thank you for attending, curious one. Please, sit down, and I will tell you your fortune," the gypsy-like dressed woman beckoned him with a hand to the chair nearest to him.

She adorned a red and brown dress that covered her entire body with a head-gear that exposed half her silvery hair, a golden band covenanted her forehead and several golden-in-appearance necklaces draped her neckline. Every finger had a ring on it, some golden, others ruby and sapphire.

Grayson had once told him about charlatans like this, they prayed on the weak-minded and easily manipulated. "No thanks, I was just curious," he told her off in his blunt way.

"Ah, a non-believer," she said smoothly. "One who believes only in what he sees and not what lies beyond the realm of flesh and blood. There is more than to the universe than what the five senses can sense, young pup."

Damian scowled, the arrogance of the woman, he thought. "I'm a pragmatist, woman, like my father. I don't believe in spirits or ghosts or anything of the sort. I have seen weird things in my time, but don't you dare dictate to me what or what may be out there. I will not be lectured by the likes of you."

Just then Grayson lifted up the tent flap as Damian went to leave, behind him was Drake. "There you are," Dick said; "we were wondering where you went off, too. Did you get lost? This tent is a little off the beaten path."

"No!" Damian retorted somewhat irritated. "I was just leaving. I'm not interested in this fortune-telling fraudster!"

Damien pushed back Grayson and was half way out the tent when the gypsy threatened in a loud, boisterous voice: "Take heed, young child! For the forces that be have set their eyes on you and your wicked tongue! The hounds of hells beset upon your house and all those that encircle you, Damian Wayne!"

Grayson's eyes widened.

Damian snapped his attention back to her. "How do you know my name? I never told you my name."

The gypsy produced a toothy grin. Her hands hovered over her crystal ball. "The Great Spirits know all, and tell me what I wish to know." She then pointed to the others. "Dick Grayson, and Timothy Drake. The spirits know you, too."

Grayson gave the gypsy a suspicious look. He thought he had known all the tricks of the trade, but this was a little different. But, of course, each one of them were associated with Bruce Wayne, and they were well known in Gotham. So, this gypsy knowing their names came at no surprise, in retrospect. "Nice try, ma'am," he said to the gypsy. "We're kind of known in Gotham, so your scare act won't work on us."

"It's no act, Dick Grayson! You have been found out!"

"Okay, that's enough. C'mon Damian, let's go." Dick took Damian by the shoulders and literately shoved him out of the tent. Before he left, however. He took one fleeting glance back at the gypsy before departing. She smiled.

"You really think that woman knew us because our familiarity within Gotham, Dick?" Tim asked.

"It's one of the oldest tricks in the book, Tim," Dick said, walking. "Like a card trick, the old slight-of-hand trickery. But unlike stealing your wallet to get your information, to pass it to someone behind the curtain who then relays it via a hidden earpiece to make you believe the 'Great Spirits' told her about you, she probably recognized Damian's face from the news. He's been photographed with Bruce many times in the media. The woman has probably been at this for a long time, by the look of her. So, nothing to be concerned about."

"Yeah, you're so gullible, Drake."

Drake frowned.

"Okay guys, enough," Dick said. "We've had a good day. Don't spoil it without another argument."

They agreed, then carried on, and played some more games, and enjoyed the rest of the day argument-free.

 ** _To be continued…_**


	4. A Series Of Unfortunate Events Part 1

_**CHAPTER FOUR**_

 _ **"A Series Of Unfortunate Events - Part 1"**_

It was dusk when they finally left the carnival.

Dick Grayson was beginning the feel his age. He felt exhausted after a fun day. He was still young in comparison to Bruce, but he wasn't as young as the two passengers in his car as he drove everyone home.

The day had been a success, and he had gotten Damian to brake out of his hard shell he always kept himself in, a form of discipline he acquired while training with Ra's al Ghul and his mother Talia. He began to enjoy himself close to the end, even after the incident with the gypsy fortune-teller.

He looked over at Tim and smiled. The teen was in the front passenger seat with his head leaned against the window, his eyes closed. It was odd to see him napping. The kid was often up all hours of the day and night, drinking his Red Bulls, and working on the Batcomputer. The day must have worn him out.

Damian, on the other hand, was wide awake, with his face in his cell phone. He wasn't an out-going kid, but he and Jon Kent (Superman's son) often texted each other — the kids were close these days; friends — and Dick wagered that that was what "D" — which he sometimes called him — was doing now, telling his friend about his day.

"Still up, eh D? You certainly had your fill of cotton candy today."

Damian looked up from the phone. "Yup, the day was okay. Thanks, Grayson."

Dick's hand almost slipped from the driver's wheel when he heard it. Had Damian actually thanked him? Obviously Tim hadn't been sleeping but just resting his eyes and Dick caught him looking at him with equal shock. Tim then mouthed: "He thanked you?" Dick nodded, shrugged his shoulders.

This put Dick in a very good mood as he pulled onto the side road that lead to the Manor off the main road. He had done something even Bruce couldn't accomplish with Damian, he had made Damian act like a typical kid if even only for a day. To forget his life as Robin, even for a day. And that was the purpose of the day. Originally he thought it was "punishment" for the kid who liked nothing better to do but train and fight, but in the end Damian enjoyed himself.

Damian's shell was hard to crack sometimes, but today he had made a hairline fracture in its hard exterior.

Within a couple of minutes, Dick's dark Sedan came to a stop. He had modified the vehicle over the years, added security features, hidden weapons, a special control panel in the dashboard with a communique station with encrypted wifi, and also added a turbo powered engine if needed. The car could go up to speeds of 250 km per hour on open terrain. If anyone looked inside, all these features would be hidden. Only a button underneath the dash on the driver's seat would reveal them all. Otherwise, it looked like your typical car to the average on-looker.

It was of an older make of car and he liked working it, greasing his hands and getting into its guts. Jason had called it a "Daddy's car", but if he really knew how much Dick had put into it, he'd be impressed.

Just the other day, Arsenal, whose real name was Roy Harper, once the Green Arrow's sidekick, now Jason's ally in the group he formed with others that he called the Outsiders, had paid the Manor a surprise visit, because he was in the area on business. Dick showed him the Sedan and all its features. The young looking buck Arsenal had similar tastes in older cars and was astounded and amazed with all the work Dick had put into it. Roy left with some great ideas he said he would use in his own motorcycle, and other vehicles for the rest of the Outsiders' team.

The Outsiders sounded like your typical roughneck eclectic bunch, but Jason choose a winner of a team when he formed them. Each of them had long-term experience in fighting crime and had their own unique skills and talents. And despite it being fancy, Jason had managed to swing a deal with one of his "clients" — Jason never explained who; but the man had been very grateful for whatever job Jason had performed for him; one-the-level, he had said, and not crime-oriented — for a large loft in the centre of Gotham's residential district. It was where they gathered to plan their missions, or just relax, rest, (a get-away place from world chaos), but not for partying, Jason claimed. There was an entertainment centre, finished and furnished rooms, a fully stocked kitchen, bar, and other things. There were strict rules, of course, and it was leased out to them at a considerable discount. The "client" owned it, but all the amenities were paid by the Outsiders. They called it "The Club House."

Dick pulled up to the front of the Manor and parked. "We're home, kids!" he said fatherly.

All of a sudden, there was loud POP and then the rear of the car dropped. Each of them jerked from the impact.

"What the hell was that?" Damian demanded.

"Is everyone okay?" Dick asked; the others nodded. Dick was the first to get out of the car. When he looked at the back of the Sedan his jaw dropped in utter disbelief. Damian got of the rear carefully and immediately saw the issue.

"Holy double blow-out!" Tim voiced, when he got out and looked at the back. Dick gave Tim an incredulous look; Tim knew the referral. That was something Dick often said when he was Robin. It was half way between swearing and shock. "What happened? I don't see anything around like that would've caused it." He then looked at Damian. "Time to cut out the sweets, Damian."

Damian gave Tim a condescending look, but didn't retort with a snide remark. He knew he didn't cause the tires to blow, but in this instance, Tim was right, and knew he had eaten too much at the carnival; he felt a little ill.

Alfred appeared at the front entrance to the Manor. "My word…What happened, Master Dick?" He came down the steps to stand next to Tim, and looked at the rear tires of the Sedan. "I was dusting in the vestibule and suddenly heard two loud pops like balloons. How did this happen?"

Dick scratched the back of his head. "I don't know. Everything seemed fine when we left for the carnival." Dick shrugged. "It's rare, but not unusual. They're old tires. I meant to change them last week. If I can get the Sedan into the back garage, I'll be able to switch them with another set in storage." Dick looked to Damian. "I know it's asking a lot, D, but instead of us going to the bother of setting up a hitch to drag it back to the garage, do you think you can call Jon Kent to help us? It's nice to know someone with _super_ strength."

Damian paused for a moment, then reached into his pocket for his phone, and began to text Jon. This surprised both Dick and Tim. Normally Damian wouldn't bother with a "do-it-yourself" attitude. He told Grayson that he was returning the favour in going to the carnival. He had had a good time.

Jon got back to Damian almost immediately, but he said he couldn't come for another hour due to helping his Mother with some chores, but he would be happy to help, adding several "loud out loud" emojis to his response.

"Good," Dick said, and shut the driver's side door.

All of a sudden, the passenger side door dropped, sliding off his hinges. Then the driver's side collapsed similarly, followed by both rear doors. All four of them quickly skidded back away from the seemingly self-destructive Sedan.

Dick stood in shock. "What the—My baby!"

Alfred put a hand to his mouth and cleared his throat, hiding a small chuckle. "We have encountered meta-humans who can manipulate metals and fittings, but I've never seen this before. Maybe its time for a tune-up, Master Dick?"

Dick eyed Alfred with incredulity. "Okay, did anyone see a yellow blur just now?"

Everyone shook their heads. Dick wondered if Wally West (Kid Flash) was playing some sort of joke. Pranks were his speciality. He could do this in the blink of an eye and make it look like a mechanical issue. But if so, this wasn't funny, it was dangerous. He made a quick call to Wally, but his friend just laughed at him. He didn't do it.

"We'll deal with this later. I'll try to rebuild it."

"Or just junk it," Damian said. "Maybe Jason was right, 'Daddy' needs a new ride," he quipped, smirking.

"You're gonna pay for that remark you little brat," he said.

x x x

The next morning, everyone sat down at the kitchen table to eat.

Jon Kent had come when he said he would and helped Dick with the Sedan and all its pieces and stored everything in the back garage. But the question remained, how on earth could something like that had happened to his car? It was unfathomable unless something other-worldly had occurred?

The gypsy's words came back haunt Dick: " _The hounds of hell beset upon your house and all those that encircle you_ ". She had cursed Damian in the tent at the carnival for calling her a fraud. If history taught Dick anything, it was to never, ever, call someone with her mystic heritage a fraud. Strange and supernatural things always seemed to happen afterwards. He read a book where the main character had actually done such a thing and strange things began to happen to him, and then he later died, horribly.

Never mock a gypsy. Ancient magic is real. The Lazarus Pit was a perfect example of that.

But he put that thought on the back burner for the time being. He was reading too much into it. Alfred had made them a wonderful breakfast with Eggs Benedict, bacon, and french toast, and Dick wasn't going to let his suspicious nature of recent events spoil such a delicious looking meal.

Alfred served them. Dick went to dig in, but he noticed a lack of serving-ware or even drinks. Tim and Damian also noticed. This was not like Alfred. He was a stickler for proper edict and it was embed in his very being and soul.

"Ah, Alfie? Forget something?"

Alfred gasped. "Oh my, I apologize, Master Dick; everyone," he said. "My mind isn't where it's supposed to be this morning. I didn't get a lot of sleep last night. Some form of insomnia. I can't explain the reason why."

"No need to apologize, Alfie," Dick smiled, getting up from the table. "Let me help. You made this fantastic looking breakfast. The least I can do is do my as part as a family. Please, join us."

Dick went to the fridge and opened the double doors to bring out the orange juice. The best complement to Eggs Benedict was a cold, tall glass of fresh OJ. Unfortunately, the glass jug normally containing it was almost empty.

He looked directly at Damian and sloshed the bottle with its near emptiness. "Hey Damian…Do you remember when I spoke to you about sloppiness and irresponsibility? It's your job to prep the juice. Alfred can't do everything."

Damian rolled his eyes. "Hey, look, I forgot. Sue me."

Dick gave Damian and incredulous look, said, "I guess it's water then."

He collected four glasses from a wall cabinet above the counter top, choosing one, he put a glass under the tap of the sink situated in the kitchen island to fill. But he wasn't paying attention when he pulled up the lever with its detachable spray nozzle, momentarily distracted when Damian put a hand down on the kitchen table, rather too hard, and water gushed out in a massive spray, saturating Dick with water. Someone had turned the nozzle right-side up.

Tim jumped to his feet, an instinctive urge to help. Blinded by water, Dick fumbled to switch off the tap.

"Are you all right, Dick?" Tim asked. Damian laughed, and laughed hard.

Dick stood there with his eyes closed, his hair, face, and clothes, soaked and dripping. He sighed. "No, I'm okay. Towel please," he said.

"Sure," Tim said, and reached for a serving towel that was on the counter opponent the isle. Unfortunately, he didn't realize the towel was underneath a bag of flour used for preparation of the French Toast, and when Tim yanked it, the bag of flour fell to the floor, and exploded in a poof, jettisoning its contains up into the air and all over Dick.

Dick stood like a statue. First water, now baking flour. If he could see himself in a mirror he probably looked like a snowman, or something that Mr. Freeze would do to one of his victims.

Damian laughed harder, and Tim chuckled, but later apologized.

"Master Damian, Master Tim — this isn't funny," Alfred chided. "My word…Are you all right, Master Dick?"

"I'm fine, Alfred. Just peachy-keen." He took the towel from Tim literately ripping it from his hand and wiped his face. He was mad, but not at any of them. Okay, maybe a little at Damian for laughing so hard. He hadn't put much clout into it, but maybe the gypsy did do something? No, he thought. Jason had at times accused Dick of being too gullible. He had seen many weird things happen in his crime fighting career, even supernatural. But was this just bad luck?

"Alfred, what do you know about curses?" he asked the apt butler.

"There are many types in ancient history, Master Dick. But on a basic level, according to ancient lore, I know they can cause a series of unfortunate events if evoked by a person who knows dark magic. Why?"

And Dick told him what had happened at the carnival.

 ** _To be continued…_**


	5. A Series Of Unfortunate Events Part 2

**_CHAPTER FIVE_**

 ** _"A Series of Unfortunate Events - Part 2"_**

After Dick had explained to Alfred what had happened at the carnival, Alfred was convinced that what had happened to his Grayson's Sedan and the bad luck in the kitchen was more or less mere coincidence. No sinister magic; no full moon gremlins; no mischievous phantoms. Everyone has bad days, he explained.

Dick Grayson believed his trusted friend and left it at that.

Alfred laughed in introspect, and followed up in telling a story about when Master Dick was a kid, and his first attempt at using a new blender Wayne Enterprises was beta-testing that Master Bruce brought home. It had multiple features and fancy gadgetry. Tim would be envious. But it had a few bugs that needed to be ironed out before it was put to market. Dick was willing and excited to test it and had decided to mix a fruit smoothie.

Dick had heard this story before. Alfred had told it to Barbara once, and many times again over the years to others, friends, and extended family, as a conventional piece, mostly during party gatherings. And Dick had to admit, it was funny now, but it wasn't at the time it happened.

"The testing didn't lasted long when the first 'bug' was discovered," Alfred explained. "We learned later that the motor was too powerful for the model and the blender cup polymer too weak to withstand the strain. The cap flew off and a geyser of fruit erupted everywhere in the kitchen. Master Dick _became_ the fruit smoothie."

Damian and Tim laughed.

Alfred had all sorts of stories about every member of the Bat Family, and some of the best were about Bruce when he was a kid. Damian looked exactly like Bruce when he was a kid, so every once in a while a forgotten story would emerge, triggered by something he did.

"I always love it when you tell that story, Alfie," Dick said, slightly embarrassed. But he was with family, so stories like this will continue to spread for conversational purposes in years to come, he knew. "You always add such flare to it."

"I have many more stories about you, Master Dick. Shall I tell them about the time you were out on patrol, on a dark and stormy night, and about the ' _dissolving mud'_ , and Ms. Gordon? It was when you two were still so very young."

Dick's eyes widened. "You said you'd never, ever, tell that story to anyone!"

"I want to hear it," Damian said. And Tim said, "Likewise." They both enjoyed hearing stories from the past. Damian especially, when it concerned something embarrassing — like it sounded — that happened to Grayson.

"Never, ever! That story stays in the vault, Alfred. And if I hear you've told anyone, so help me…"

Alfred made a zipping motion across his lips. "Sealed, Master Dick. I remember one time you were being difficult and Ms. Gordon was a little upset with you. She threatened to tell her friends the story unless you took her out to a club she really wanted to go to. In the end, you both ended up having a good time."

Dick nodded. "I remember that club. That was fun. And nothing was said. Thank heavens."

Tim reached for his phone in his pocket. Dick stopped him immediately. "I know you have Barb's phone in your directory. Don't you dare, Tim," he said. "Or you'll find laxative in one of your drinks again."

Tim gulped, and put away his phone. Tim had spent hours running back and forth from the bathroom a few weeks prior when Dick and Damian put laxative in a smoothie mixed for him. It was punishment for listening in on a private conversion between Dick and Damian. Jason also got a taste of Dick's revenge as well, as he was Tim's "partner in crime", when they used a new hand held parabolic dish Tim had designed to listen to the pair from end to end in the Bat Cave. Jason's smoothie was mixed with viagra. He admitted to Tim later, he had to be an acrobat to urinate.

"I'll find out, Grayson," Damian said defiantly, "I have my ways."

"And I have my ways of taking revenge, just ask Tim and Jason," Dick smiled, a bit too sinisterly. "Perhaps I'll tell Jon Kent a few embarrassing stories about you, eh?"

Damian was straight-faced. "What stories?" And he instantly had a flashback of when he read some of Cat Woman's erotica stories sent to Bruce through the Batcomputer, and how it had affected him. "You wouldn't dare, Grayson!" Damian knew he wouldn't tell anyone about that, he knew Grayson's wouldn't be that treacherous. That was a private thing, so that was "in the vault", per se. But there were probably other stories Damian couldn't recall at the moment. _Don't tick off Big Brother_ , the words resounded in Damian's mind. He grumbled under his breath. "You would, too," he said, eyeing him with contempt.

"Well, now that we've had our fun, this _powder-cake-person_ is going to take a shower…"

x x x

Earlier, he had thought Alfred's "coincidence" theory had merit, but Dick Grayson wasn't so sure now. Over the course of the day and a half, bad luck had continued to strike at the heart of Wayne Manor and its occupants.

Even on the night they returned from the carnival, apart from what happened to Dick Grayson's Sedan, Tim also suffered similar brushes with his own cursed luck. Tim would tell Dick later.

After showering, and changing for bed, crawling under the sheets, Tim heard the sound of metal creak first, then suddenly the undercarriage snapped under his mattress, and he was tossed to the floor on the left side, and rolled uncontrollably. He banged his head on his closed bedroom door. Tim had mocked Damian earlier for eating too many sweets, when the rear tires of Dick's Sedan popped suddenly under some unknown strain, now it was his turn.

And if that wasn't strange enough. After pulling the mattress to the floor off the broken undercarriage — he'd repair it in the morning — he settled down and laid his head down on the pillow, and as if the weight of his head felt like a two ton breaking ball, his pillow exploded from the side, jettisoning its feathery inserts all over the room.

Dick also had another bad experience. For whatever reason, Titus, Damian's dog, was sick during the night, and also had a serious bout of diarrhea all in the upper main hallway. He had discovered it after nearly slipping on poo when he ventured to the bathroom just after three in the morning. He didn't blame the dog, Titus already looked sorrowful. Accidents happen, even with humans. But he spent near an hour cleaning it up while the rest of the Manor slept.

When Dick had finally finished up, it was about 5:30am in the morning, he went back to his room, his home away from home, or his own apartment. But the moment his head hit the pillow, he suddenly heard a loud scream, and jumped to his feet and rushed out into the hall. The scream had come from Tim's room. Alfred was just coming down the hall in a housecoat. Dick shouldered Tim's bedroom door open without testing the handle first, literally breaking the hinges.

"Tim?" Dick called. "What's happened?" Dick then saw the mess of Tim's room.

Tim stepped out of his on-suite bathroom with his hands to his head, covering his hair…his pink hair. "My hair!" He looked dumbfounded and shocked. "What the hell happened to my hair?"

With Dick's worry relieved, he asked, "What did you do?" with a slight chuckle. Alfred masked a snicker.

"Nothing!" Tim sounded panicky. "All I did was take a shower before going into bed, and before _all this_ happened…" He explained what happened to his bed and pillow. "I just went to use the bathroom, then looked in the mirror, and saw this! I didn't use anything I don't normally use to wash my hair with for this to happen!"

"Okay, settle down, Tim." Dick went into Tim's on-suite bathroom, stepping over the mess of feathers, and brought out a clear plastic bottle of something he found on a shelf in his shower. "What's this?"

"My special blend of shampoos and conditioners, it's how my hair gets its shine. I specially formulated it."

Dick shook it and suddenly its mixture began to exhibit a pink hue.

"What the hell?" Tim took it. "It wasn't like that last night!"

"You're the chemical expert, how could something like this happen?"

"A foreign agent must have been added," Tim explained. "With its special blend, whatever was added must have had an adverse reaction causing it to chemically change like adding dye to food. But no one was in my room."

Damian came around the corner into Tim's room. He yawned, rubbed his right eye with a fist, and asked sheepishly, "What's all the noise about? It's 5:30 in the morning." When he saw the sight, his eyes widened, and he sputtered out laughter. "Nice look, Drake. Getting ready for a 'date' with Kon-el?" he said, kiddingly of course.

Kon-el (Conner) was Drake's friend. He was a genetically human-hybrid clone created from the DNA of both Superman and Lex Luther. They spent a lot of time together, friends did that.

He was once known as "Superboy", but he later changed his name when he grew-up. Now that non-de-plume belonged to Jonathan (Jon) Kent, Clark Kent and Lois Lane's naturally born son, who just happened to have the same powers as his space-faring father, Superman.

"Shove it, Arse-wipe! This is your fault!"

"How is it my fault?" Damian angrily retorted.

"Tim, enough," Dick said sternly. "You can't place blame on Damian. Bad luck happens. However your special blend of shampoos and conditioners got contaminated, or maybe something within expired, it can be rationally explained. You of all people know that, scientifically inclined as you are. I don't believe in curses."

Tim nodded, agreeing.

Dick then said, "D, Titus was sick last night. I spent an hour cleaning up the upper main hallway. He seemed fine to me afterwards, must have been something he ate. But you better go check on him to see if he's okay now."

Damian quickly left, and called out for Titus, his black Great Dane.

"Dick, do you have any black hair dye?" Tim asked. "I need to get this pink out asap."

"Sure, I think I have some in my room."

"You don't need it, sir," Alfred said. "Your hair has always been jet black and dark."

"Got to touch up the greys sometimes, Alfie. In our line of work, stress plays a heavy toil."

And Alfred agreed.

x x x

Following the events of the morning and further into the afternoon — after the incident with the sink, the garbage disposal then broke down, then one of the toilets overflowed — Tim took the blame for that, he accidentally dropped the bottle of black hair dye after he was finished with it into his on-suite toilet, slipped on a towel, and in reaching for a handhold to catch his fall, happened to hit the flush switch, flushing the toilet, and causing it to overflow when the bottle got stuck. Titus also had another accident, this time in the main vestibule wanting to get outside. He couldn't hold. Damian was cleaning it up this time. And there were other things. Little things that added up.

"No, I won't believe it," Dick said, standing aside with Alfred in the main vestibule, as Damian cleaned up after Titus. "I don't believe in curses. But come to think of it, Damian hasn't had any bad luck, only the rest of us. We've all had bad luck and you had a sudden bout of insomnia last night, Alfie. That's not like you, you're normally sound asleep when you retire; after reading. The gypsy at the carnival cursed us and our 'house', but she never actually cursed you, D."

"So you're taking Drake's side? You're blaming me for this mess?" He gave Grayson dagger-eyes.

"He's not blaming you, Master Damian," Alfred assured. "But you have admit these series of unfortunate events are rather strange to be happening just after your visit from the carnival and to that gypsy woman. Perhaps another visit is in order with a sincere apology in tow?"

"Oh, c'mon!" Damian protested, getting to his feet. "You're a logical man, Pennyworth. Do you really believe in all this hocus-pocus voodoo crap now? You're taking Drake's side too? You're all blaming me for what's been happening here, admit it! That gypsy fraud has tricked you, got in your heads, made you believe that we've been cursed. She's playing you for fools. She probably wants money to 'fix' this curse. Right? And she knows we'll be back."

Dick scratched his left cheek with a finger. "Maybe that's not a bad idea, Alfred," he said, ignoring Damian's rant.

Damian smacked his teeth with his tongue in frustration. He grumbled. "Todd's right — _you're_ so gullible, Grayson!"

 ** _To be continued…_**


	6. A Dose Of Your Own Medicine

_**CHAPTER SIX**_

 _ **"A Dose of Your Own Medicine"**_

With Dick's Sedan temporarily out of commission — he could fix it easily if he had the time: new rear tires; new pins in the door hinges — they opted to take a taxi cab back to the carnival instead, and when they were dropped of, they made straight for the golden tent wherein housed the cursed gypsy woman.

They wasted no time. They wanted answers as to how and why all these unfortunate things were happening to them and also have Damian apologize for his previous actions, if the woman would accept it.

Damian had grumbled all the way to the carnival, but Dick insisted this had to be done. There were just too many instances of misfortunate to be mere coincidence. Something other-worldly was happening. Maybe Damian's claim that Dick was too gullible was right, he didn't know, but whatever was happening, had to stop.

Dick, Tim and Damian entered the tent.

The atmosphere hadn't changed, everything was as it was before.

Tapestries lined the interior walls of the tent and the round table with the crystal ball centred them all. But the mist was a little thicker and a slightly heavier smell of honeysuckle invaded their noses from a scented candle. It bellowed out an unnatural smoke from a far table.

"Where is she?" Tim asked, slightly panicked. He looked around, even in the back area. But he couldn't find her. He shrugged. "She's nowhere. Do you think she left the carnival?"

"No, her tent is still up, and her incense is heavy," Dick said. He waved the mist aside, it was suffocating. "If she's not here, I bet she's somewhere around. Probably with another vendor getting something to eat."

Damian folded his arms across his chest. "This is stupid. No one is cursed here. We should just go home."

"FOOLS!" came a booming voice from somewhere within the tent. It startled everyone.

Tim came back to stand next to the others. There was strength in numbers, Bruce had always taught them.

"Tim, Damian — get out! Now!" Dick ordered.

Tim began coughing violently from the heavy mist, he was nearest to the incensed candle, and suddenly collapsed to the floor unconscious.

Suddenly Damian's eyes bulged wide and his body began to twitch. His arms dropped to his side and he looked to be having some sort of seizure, Dick observed.

"Damian!" he shouted, gripping the boy's arms. "What's wrong?"

 _Tell me your name, boy…_  
 _You will do what I say…_  
 _Tell me your greatest fears…_  
 _You will tell me all your secrets…_  
 _Who do you serve…_

"Damian Wayne…" he began saying.

The boy seemed to be in some sort of trance now, his face and body calm. He was no longer experiencing seizure-like symptoms. His eyes looked dead as he looked straight ahead; controlled and powerless. He was responding to a voice that Dick couldn't hear inside Damian's own mind. The mist wasn't incense but some sort of hallucinating drug. And Damian's own consciousness was being subverted by a higher power.

He had seen this before, just days ago in fact, before Tim and Damian were attacked in the warehouse.

The man who attacked them went berserk after he was exposed to a new type of airborne drug. He had believed both boys were demons from another world who wanted to kill him. Tim and Damian stayed and fought the man, while Nightwing went after the man's boss who fled on foot through the back streets of Gotham.

It was obvious now. The gypsy was a disguise, a masquerade, designed to expose people to his new powerful and sinister hallucinogenic drug…

And he could only think of only one person could be behind this diabolic plot. He must have been using the carnival to hide in plain sight, using it as cover to coordinate his operations elsewhere, pretending to be a fortune-teller, while using his hallucinogenic drug on unsuspecting people to convince them of things, make them do what he wanted, see what he wished them to see, even have them commit crimes while they take the fall.

All those donations to charities, all those people from every walks of life, fortunes lost, jobs cost — it was all _him_!

Dick coughed. It was hard to see.

Dick had to wonder. All that bad luck that took place at the Manor, it wasn't misfortune but controlled chaos. And did Crane/Scarecrow actually know all of their secrets? Damian had been alone in the tent before he found him the day after yesterday. He must have been exposed to Crane's hallucinogenic drug back then and said things involuntarily.

Scarecrow's drugs had the power of "suggestion"; that little voice in a person's mind to nudge them to do something— like the archaic notion of an angle and demon sitting on your shoulder. Only the demon had more influence with Damian, and the angel was muzzled. Crane knew how to manipulate the unconscious mind no matter how strong a person thought they were — even the son of Batman, even with all of Ra's al Ghul's mental training.

He knew there had to be a reasonable explanation for everything that occurred. Alfred had been right.

It was Damian's fault, but the boy could not be blamed. It was actually Scarecrow in control, his hypnotic voice in the back of the boy's mind telling him to do things.

He recalled events now. He saw Damian near the sink in the kitchen during breakfast. He had been washing his hands. Crane's voice must have told him to rotate the spray nozzle upside down, unnoticed, knowing someone would eventually use it, and think it was misfortune.

The flour bag that fell to the floor when Tim yanked the towel off the counter, Damian must have placed it there, too, arranging a set series of events to occur and to allow the curse to flourish.

There was also a time in the afternoon Dick had not seen Damian for sometime when he was working on his Sedan in the garage. He assumed Damian was on his phone texting with Jon Kent, or playing around on a game system like he often did. He knew Tim was down in the Bat Cave. Damian must have been dismantling Tim's bed undercarriage, but leaving it just shy of collapsing, so when Tim went to bed, misfortune would transpire. Even a small slash to the side of Tim's pillow would cause it to explode its feathery contains when Tim suddenly dropped his head onto it.

Tim's pink hair could also be explained. Damian was not averse to chemicals. Schooling may have taught him how to mix certain chemicals that could've had a delayed reaction when it came to Tim's special blended shampoo/conditioner. The pink dye like substance rubbed into Tim's hair and later altering his hair colour with exposure to oxygen over a couple of hours. It wasn't rocket science.

But he dreaded to think what Damian may have given Titus to make him sick and cause the poor dog diarrheic distress. If the boy had given Titus something that hurt him, and he had done so unwittingly, he'd never be able to forgive himself. He loved Titus more than life itself. It was a testament to the boy's uncanny love of animals. Despite his tough, sandpiper like exterior, he was a kind and gentle kid who cherished all forms of life.

So everything could be explained… _mostly_.

"Dr. Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow…Show yourself _now_!" he demanded. "Your charade is over! I know it's _you_!"

"Ahhh…" Scarecrow's voice seemed to echo all around him through the mist. "You've finally seen through my carnival of tricks, I see. My drug is very powerful on a suggestible mind. But you, on the other hand, are a different breed. He's taught you well — Batman's first apprentice, the great and noble Nightwing — Richard Grayson."

Damian couldn't be blamed, Dick now fully realized. And the gypsy — Scarecrow — did know their names when "she" first recited them. Grayson originally thought because they were well known in Gotham, the gypsy got their names from the media. Now he knew better. Damian must have told Crane their secrets — their crime fighting identities — coaxing them out while asking the right questions.

Dr. Jonathan Crane was, in a pervious life, was a well known psychologist. Triggers within questions could reveal a lot about a person's psyche and secrets they didn't want revealed. He was one of the more dangerous villains Batman ever faced on a psyche level. Crane had a very high I.Q. that rivalled some of the best minds in the world. Pity he didn't use his brilliance for good. But when he was subjected to his own experiences, and a drug he designed to help his patients, it caused him to go insane — and he became the villain known as the Scarecrow.

"Call me whatever you like," Dick said, not caring what Crane knew. He projected his voice to seemingly empty space. Damian was still in a trance and Tim was on the floor. "Give it up, Crane. I've figured out your scheme. All those people who donated to your fake charities, the transfers to those off-shone numbered accounts. I know it all."

"Do you now? But you cannot know everything, no one knows everything, even when they think they do. Secrets are my currency and my money is very valuable." Scarecrow's voice was hypnotic. Was the mist starting to affect Dick now? "And with what I know now, your days of protecting Gotham City are over!"

"Grayson — _HELP ME!_ " Damian suddenly shouted.

"Dick — _HE'S HURTING ME!_ " followed Tim's voice from the floor.

"I have them within my spell of unconscious thought, Dick Grayson," Scarecrow said. "They will believe what I want them to believe, do what I want them to do — like all the others that I have controlled with my hallucinogenic drug. They'll never be able to break free from my grasp. Their eternal nightmares will be my pleasant dreams of thought. Damian Wayne was mine to control from the start."

"You brainwashed him, put thoughts in his head, to control his unconscious mind," Dick said. All the bad luck they'd experienced was just confirmed, done by Scarecrow's in control of Damian.

"When you came into my tent, I felt it was gift from the gods. The riches that adorn within Wayne Manor must be splendid, I recognized you from the start. How can I not? You are the darings of Gotham, to its Prince, Bruce Wayne. Like a royal family. I watched you from the shadows, but that dumb dog prevented me from getting close, or from entering the Manor. So, I gave him something to munch on to put him to sleep, but obviously he has a soft belly. You spent some time cleaning up after that mutt when he was sick. That was unfortunate. But now that I know all your secrets, I don't need to steal anything — you'll give it to me of your own free will."

Scarecrow laughed, but it sounded more like a muffled, low, deafening laugh; sinister albeit.

Dick's eyes drooped, the strange fogginess he felt earlier was filling his conscious mind, as if he was entering into a deep sleep…the mist was so thick now. It was penetrating every core of his bring, his skin, and eyes…and his body felt like it wanted to fall over, like Tim did moments ago.

But he knew something Scarecrow didn't.

"I'm afraid you made one final error, Dr. Crane," Dick said, sounding tired.

"Really? And what, pray tell, would that be?"

Dick's eyes opened wide, his body straightened, and he smiled, seemingly unaffected by the drug. "We had a sample of your drug from the warehouse, and analyzed it, and devised a suitable antidote. Obviously this is a similar drug within the mist, but with a more concentrated potency. We took the antidote after it was formulated because we had your nanobots swimming in our blood from before. You're not the only one who has a trick or two up his sleeve. But Damian obviously had a much larger dose when he first entered the tent the first time, and now a second, here."

Dick reached into his pocket, took out what looked like a small metal drug kit and took out a small white pill. He forced feed it to Damian, held his nose, to make him inhale, and made him swallow it. He also swallowed a pill. He brought a couple with him.

"As you now know, Crane, we are the Children of the Bat, and we never yield." Grabbing Damian by the shoulders, he literally lifted the boy off his feet, and forced him aside to safety. Dick then shouted, "TIM… _NOW!_ "

Tim twisted on the floor, he had been playacting. Dick saw Tim had been covering his mouth and nose on the floor from the incense for less exposure to it — Damian had not. And with a quick hand movement, reached into his back pants pocket and wiped out a weaponized mini-disc of his own design — shouted: "Head's up!" — and threw it into the vicinity of the round table with the crystal ball.

Along with the blast, the device had an interesting feature, it forced the gas to go inert, releasing the antidote they had devised to counteract Scarecrow's hallucinogenic drug, as snow white particles.

Dick had turned when Tim shouted before throwing the disc, shut his eyes from the blast, and shielded Damian with his arms, almost in a hug. When he opened his eyes, he saw Damian looking up at him with a strange look on his face. "Why are you hugging me, Grayson?"

"Because I care," he simply said, and he quickly explained what had happened. He released Damian, and asked him if he remembered anything. Damian shook his head. Dick knew he'd have to explain things to him later.

Dick also gave Tim a pill as well to counteract any further expose to Scarecrow's airborne drug.

After everything was said, Scarecrow was nowhere to be found. They looked everywhere, in and out of the tent.

Tim returned from the back area after a thorough search, shrugged his shoulders. Dick had searched the exterior, while Damian remained inside. They were all back inside.

"Where is he? He's not a phantom. He can't just vanish," Tim said. "He has to be near-by to speak to us."

"Unless he used a voice box," Damian said. "But that's not Crane's style, he likes to personally taunt his victims."

Dick thought for a moment, then looked down at the table with the crystal ball. He put a finger to his mouth. Then kicked it over. Scarecrow in his mask gave a little yelp when he was discovered in his hiding space, huddled up. Without his influence over others, Dr. Jonathan Crane was a small, weak man, with no true physical strength.

Dick ripped off the villain's mask and then grabbed him by the lapels of his weird looking costume he liked to don — he actually dressed like a scarecrow often seen on the side of farm dirt roads to scare away crows from eating corn — and brought the man face to face. "You reign of terror is over now, Dr. Crane," he said with clenched teeth.

"Ah, but is it? The boy spilled the beans," Crane said. "I know your secrets. Nightwing, Red Robin, Robin — and Bruce Wayne is Batman. When the rest of the Rogues hear about this, you're all finished." Crane laughed, and he seemed to laugh like a crazy lunatic. "You may have won the battle, batboy, but I have won the war!"

"Let's kill him," Damian said matter-of-factly. "No Crane; no secrets revealed. Let me do the honours…" He cracked his knuckles. "After all he's done to us, he deserves it. And they'll be one less loon to send back to Arkham Asylum."

Tim came to stand next to Damian. "You know, for once, I'm in total agreement. He knows too much."

"I'm not one for it, but maybe you're right," Dick said with a sinister grin. "You messed with me family, Crane."

Crane's eyes bulged wide. "Huh? What… _wait!_ But Batman doesn't kill!"

"Times change, doc. Do you see Batman here? I don't."

"Neither do I," Damian said.

"Neither do I," Tim added.

Dick's eye darted down to Tim's hand. The teen has reached into his front pants pocket and took something out. Dick knew what it was. Tim had brought a sample of Crane's hallucinogenic drug with him in a small easy to use rubber, finger, puff-spray. And brought it up, and used it on Crane, directly jettisoning it into the villain's face.

Crane coughed. "What was that?"

Dick said, "Time for a dose of his own medicine, doc. We came prepared. You're not the only smart one here."

Tim leaned in close and began to whisper something into Crane's ear. "The demons are here, and they're here for you, doc. They want to eat your flesh and devour your soul. You have no hope other than the salvation of redemption. You must forget everything you have heard here, forget us. Only then will the demon's leave you in peace."

It was payback for what Crane had told his minion back at the warehouse.

Crane shook his head in disbelief. "No, you can't trick me. This is my ploy. I will not be…"

But almost immediately the drug began to take effect and Tim's suggestion began to resound inside Crane's mind.

Crane looked at the trio, eyes wide, as if seeing the very thing Tim had "told" him to see — demons of his own design — and his face contorted, mouth agape in horror, as if he was seeing something so frightening, so demonic, that even his own sadistic, warped mind saw it was beyond comprehending.

He couldn't look away…

And Jonathan Crane/Scarecrow shouted out with a bloody-curdling scream.

 _ **To be continued…**_


	7. What Rotten Luck

_**CHAPTER SEVEN**_

 _ **"What Rotten Luck"**_

Crane was dropped off at the main gate of Arkham Asylum by Nightwing in his recently repaired Sedan.

Crane inhaled enough of his own drug to cause severe unconsciousness for several hours and Dick, Tim and Damian, managed to take him back to the Bat Cave, unnoticed — they had their ways — Dick quickly fixed his Sedan in record time, kept Crane sedated for the full duration, and then Nightwing drove him to Arkham. The warden was called midway to expect them. The Warden was accompanied by two prison guards when they arrived.

Nightwing explained what had occurred and gave the Warden the information he'd need to track down most if not all of Crane's victims he used his new hallucinogenic drug on, and how to recover a favourable amount of the money transferred to numerous off-shone bank accounts Crane had used and stolen.

Not everything could be recovered, however. Twenty-five million dollars would still be outstanding and would be lost, pre-programmed to transfer hour-quarterly if not stopped, Tim learned, erasing the transaction afterwards; all traces that money was even present in accounts, gone. Fragments of holdings had been found with some amazing hacking skills by Tim, but very little else. The teen got a running start for their continuous search for the money. He put "bots" out on the internet to signal back to the Batcomputer with even a hint of any money laundering taking place. Maybe it would yield clues to this crime, or maybe it would stumbled upon some other crime. Only time would tell.

But one question still plagued Grayson as he drove back to Wayne Manor. The operation was much too larger for Crane to work alone, he definitely had a partner. Under the suggestibility of his own drug, this was made apparent, after he was asked a series of questions about his operation. But Crane didn't know who he was or what he looked like, only that he helped fund Crane's newest drug operation.

This reminded Dick of their recent encounter with Mr. Freeze. There was something strange about that case, too. How did Rebecca, Freeze's young helper, acquire $25,000 to offer the guard at Arkham, whom she later murdered? She had the money in a special account. Later, when they attempted to trace the account, all links to it were dead.

He made a slight detour, and drove into the secret entrance to the Bat Cave instead of the main house, maneuvering through its sleuth ways of tunnels, remotely accessing secret doors and walls with a beacon. Tim had painstaking devised a security system to keep any unwanted visitors out while still maintaining a natural appearance if anyone decided to do some cave exploring. In Dick's eyes, the kid was a genius.

He pulled into the main area of the cave and parked near the Batmobile. Alfred, Tim and Damian were all present, conducting themselves in their own ways.

Getting out of the Sedan, Nightwing smiled. "Crane's safe and sound in Arkham. He won't bother us for a long time. And thanks to Tim's masterful computer skills, the Gotham P.D. may be able to find almost all the money he stole."

Tim smiled proudly, as he sat in a chair next to the Batcomputer. His usual spot. Both Damian and Tim were in civies.

"Good," Alfred said. "So, brainwashing Dr. Crane with own drug was successful? Your secret identities are safe?"

"Yup, he doesn't even remember his own caper. The demons inside his mind told him to forget it all." Dick smiled with almost fiendish glee. "And all the bad luck as of late can be contributed back to Scarecrow's unconscious control of Damian in recent days."

And Crane was the one who gave Titus food that made him sick.

Damian was relieved when Dick had told him that. If he had harmed Titus in anyway, even unconsciously, he would hate himself. In fact, Titus was also in the Bat Cave, and sat next to Damian. He was petting the dog.

But Damian was still upset that Crane had managed to control him unwillingly and so easily in the first place. Dick explained that it was such a powerful hallucinogenic drug that even Bruce would have a difficult time with it. This seemed to assuage Damian's woes, but only slightly. He knew he needed more inner strength to match his father.

"I don't remember doing any of it. My mind is a blank. I'm sorry, you guys." Damian apologized, and he meant it. "But, what about Grayson's car? I couldn't have done that. There was no time and I don't have the knowhow."

Dick frowned. "Well, that mystery has been solved, too," he said, rather displeased. "That was on Jason. Apparently he still had a beef with me when I spiked his blueberry smoothie with viagra, so he had Roy Harper, Arsenal, make a surprise — "I just happened to in the area on other business" — visit to the Manor, and mess with my car. Remember I showed him around and let him take a look at my Sedan, say about a week ago…Well, he secretly came back, and put small remote but non-lethal devices on the door frames to blow the hinges and also on my rear undercarriage near the axes that released small darts at the tires to make them blow."

Jason admitted Roy went overboard. So, when he heard what had happened — he said Tim had recently texted him about it — he immediately called Dick, and told him it was his fault. And he took fully responsibility for Roy's actions.

"I'm glad to hear that Master Jason is finally taking responsibility for his wrongs," Alfred said. "If the devices had activated at any other time other than in front of the Manor, everyone could've been serious hurt."

"Jason told Roy to do something to my car in revenge for the smoothie, but after he learned what had happened, he let Roy have it," Dick added. "He told me he cursed Harper out for an hour in The Club House. Jason said the neighbours even voiced a complaint to the landlord, then he got cursed out. So much for revenge, eh, Alfie?"

"Cause and effect, Master Dick."

"I totally agree, Alfie."

"Speaking of cause an effect…" Damian said. He held his stomach and Dick heard the sound of upset gurgling. "I think all those sweets I ate at the carnival are coming back to haunt me. Excuse me." And Damian began to walk very quickly away, towards the bathroom facilities down a corridor housed in the Bat Cave. He told Titus to stay.

Tim laughed. "Looks like the universe does work in mysterious ways," he said. "Serves him right."

"Indeed," Alfred agreed.

Tim and Alfred went to leave, Titus following, to head back up the Manor in the elevator.

Dick had to change first and then he'd follow them.

But just as he took a step, the sound of something metal bounced and clanged on the floor grating within his vicinity, echoing the suddenly quite atmosphere of the Bat Cave. Dick looked down and saw that a small bolt had popped free from the undercarriage near the right rear tire of his Sedan. He must have not fully tightened it in his rush to put the Sedan back together, to get Crane to Arkham, and the vibrations must've have loosed it free.

Reasonable, there was nothing other-worldly about that, he thought.

He bent to pick it up, and suddenly he hear the sound of a massive fabric tear. He whipped his hand to his backside. Yes, he had worn this Nightwing costume many times, washed it, repaired it, so he knew eventually something like this would happen. But right up the butt? It was one of favourite set of tights, too.

Tim and Alfred looked back at him, they had heard the loud tear. It was an unmistakeable sound.

He smiled abashed, cupping his rear. Alfred opened his mouth to say something, but Dick then countered quicker, saying: "Nobody say a word," he said, hushing them, "Not…One…Word."

 _What rotten luck_ , he thought.

 **END.**


End file.
